Between Roc and a Hard Place

by Heather Graham

  It was a spoon. Elaborate, definitely Spanish, definitely very, very old …

  From the Contessa. It had to be.

  He studied the design on the piece, then set it down very carefully. He picked up his copy of the ship’s manifest and leafed through it quickly.

  Eighty-eight silver spoons had been aboard, crested with a likeness of a crown.

  He looked at Melinda’s find again. Once more his fingers began to shake. They were close. So close. The Contessa was here—somewhere.…

  He stood quickly, carrying the spoon with him, climbing to the galley deck. He started to shout, then realized that they were all there, seated around the galley table, looking like a troop of puppies at the pound that hadn’t been adopted. Connie and Melinda were sipping tea; Bruce and Peter had beers. Joe was just sitting there drumming his fingers on the table, and Marina was behind him, her arms around his neck.

  “My lord, this looks like a wake!” he said.

  They turned, leaped up as one.

  He produced the spoon.

  “I checked the manifest. Looks as if this is definitely the real McCoy.”

  Connie let out a wild shriek and kissed Bruce on the cheek, Marina threw her arms around Joe, and Peter rushed forward to pump Roc’s hand.

  Roc stared over Peter’s shoulder at Melinda, who just stood there alone, very quietly, aquamarine eyes steady on his.

  “So you’ve found her!” Peter said. “The Contessa! Just like you always knew you would.”

  “We’ve found her,” Roc murmured. And he walked forward, placing the spoon on the table in front of Melinda, his eyes still hard on hers. “Actually, Melinda found her, so it seems. Congratulations, Ms. Davenport.”

  He left the spoon sitting there, then turned and walked out of the galley, heading up the steps, anxious to get on deck, to feel the breeze tear through his hair, cool his face.

  He set his hands on the port side rail. He should be ecstatic. Not that one spoon was proof positive of anything, but since he had always thought the Contessa was somewhere near here, it did seem like an awfully good indication that they had almost found the whole treasure.

  So why didn’t he feel ecstatic? His fingers curled tightly around the rail until the veins in his hands stood out. He looked down at them and released the rail quickly.

  Maybe a shower.

  He moved away from the rail and headed into his cabin. He kept the water chilly, then hot. He scrubbed his face, his hair, and reminded himself that when he reached land he really did need a haircut. The steam rose around him. He was using way too much hot water. At the moment, though, it felt good. It was easing the tension from his muscles.

  He started, hearing, just above the rushing water, his cabin door opening. Hands that had been sluicing soap over his shoulders suddenly went still.

  “Who the hell is it?”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “Who the hell—”

  “It’s me!” Melinda announced. “Damn, you’re the one who insisted that this place be my particular prison.”

  “What?”

  He’d heard her. At the moment, though, her words didn’t make any sense.

  She came closer. Looking over the glass enclosure of the small shower stall, he saw that she had come unhappily to the doorway.

  “I said that you were the one to insist that your cabin was my prison! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I was just going to take a shower. I didn’t realize that you were already there, captain!” She offered him a quick salute, looking as if she were quite ready to flee, and not nearly so confident as she tried to sound.

  But Melinda was always confident.…

  “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Suddenly the door to his cabin burst open, and Connie came rushing on in. “A picnic, that’s it! A barbecue! We need to celebrate, and Teardrop Isle isn’t a twenty-minute ride away. What do you think—oh!”

  Bless Connie. When she was excited, she didn’t see a thing, not a single thing even if it was right in front of her face. It had taken her that whole long speech to realize that Roc was in the shower and Melinda was standing in the doorway.

  “Oh. Oh, I am sorry! I didn’t realize. Forgive me, I—”

  “Connie, damn it, there’s nothing to forgive you for!” Roc grated in exasperation.

  “I didn’t mean to make you mad—” she began again, looking from Roc to Melinda, then back again.

  “I’m not mad!”

  “Then why are you shouting?” Connie demanded.

  “You are shouting,” Melinda told him with a shrug.

  He placed his hands over his face and groaned softly. “Get out of here, both of you, please. Connie, I’m not mad, and a picnic sounds just like a little hunk of heaven. Melinda, the shower and the cabin will be all yours in just ten minutes. Now—out!”

  Connie turned and fled instantly. Melinda stood there staring at him, aquamarine eyes glittering with anger.

  “You just scared that poor girl half to death.”

  “She’s not scared. She knows me too well for that.”

  “Really?”

  Was there perhaps a touch of jealousy in the inquiry? Hard to tell. She had that regal look about her, chin high, eyes flaming, hair a fantastic golden mane. She leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over her chest, totally defiant. Well, why shouldn’t she be? He never had seemed to carry out a threat with her. Except once.

  He inhaled slowly, deeply. “She knows me well enough to get the hell out when I ask her to!” he snapped.

  “Ah, yes, the great captain speaks! Let’s all jump quickly or else walk the plank!”

  “Out,” he warned her.

  She arched a brow.

  The water seemed to have grown hotter and hotter. “If you’re not out of here in thirty seconds, you’ll be joining me for a shower,” he warned.

  “I’m simply trying to make the point that you can’t yell at people and scare them just because you’re in a foul mood because I found the proof you were looking for.”

  “Ten seconds.”

  “Roc, I told you—”

  He pushed open the clouded shower stall door, and her eyes widened considerably. She stared at him quickly, hastily, from head to toe.

  “Wait a minute—” she began.

  “Time’s up,” he promised.

  Well, she had surely seen him. All of him. Maybe it had even stirred a few memories.

  What those memories were, he couldn’t be sure, because she had turned to flee.

  Too late. He had warned her.

  His hands landed on her shoulders, and he spun her around, bending and throwing her over his shoulder.

  A shriek left her, faint because he had left her so little breath with which to protest.

  She was light, he thought. Despite her shapely, muscular strength, despite her five feet eight inches, she was light when he lifted her.

  Skeins of soft golden hair tumbled over his naked back and shoulders. Teased his buttocks and beyond. Her fingers gripped his bare flesh as she struggled to escape.

  He almost groaned aloud, it ached so to touch her, aroused things already aroused, things she surely had already seen, and yet, to his amazement, things that could feel an even greater call to hunger.

  Touching her …

  It was a mistake!

  He walked quickly, intently to the shower stall and set her on her feet under the still rushing water. The water poured over her golden hair, soaking it, plastering it around her face. She stood beneath the heavy spray, gasping, steadying herself with her hands on his shoulders.

  She looked into his eyes, her own burning. “You son of a—”

  “You said you wanted a shower!” he reminded her, catching her hands, taking them from his shoulders. “Enjoy!”

  He turned swiftly, closing the shower door behind him. Still dripping, he grabbed a towel and stepped into the cabin, swallowing hard, trying not to shout out loud. He dried himself in a fury, stepp
ed into briefs and shorts, muttering beneath his breath all the while, furious with her, furious with what she could do to him.

  He stared at the bathroom door. He was dressed now. Sort of. Halfway composed. And fair was fair.

  He strode across the room, throwing the door open. As he had suspected, she had apparently been certain that he was gone.

  She had stripped off the black suit with its sexy, nonexistent back and French-cut thighs. It was flung over the door of the stall.

  She was facing the flow of water, scrubbing her face.

  The misted panel of the shower door did little but add a fascinating intrigue to the shapely structure of her body. Naked, she seemed a work of art, her back so long, so beautifully curved, her hips flaring, her derriere rounded and perfect, legs so willowy and long.…

  She swung around, her eyes meeting his and widening. “What—” she began.

  “Thought you might be needing a towel!” he called out in a light tone, tossing his own on the hook. “Go right ahead. I didn’t mean to interrupt you!”

  His hand on the doorknob, he started to walk out, then paused for a second. “Gaining a few pounds, eh?”

  It was a lie. She hadn’t gained an ounce.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “Nothing.”

  “Will you get out?” she demanded.

  He grinned. “Yeah, sure.”

  She spun around, reaching for the faucet, shutting the water off instantly.

  He was going to leave. He was really going to leave. He meant to leave.

  It was just that his feet wouldn’t obey his mind’s command.

  He strode toward the stall instead, throwing the clouded glass door open once again.

  And he reached for her, hands circling her waist, drawing her against his naked chest. He felt the thunder in her heart.

  Felt the fullness of her breasts, the torment of her nipples grazing across his flesh, felt himself fitting against her despite the cutoffs he had donned.

  She felt it, too. Everything. The stroke of flesh, the hardness of muscle—and of … other things.

  Those beautiful eyes filled with alarm. Her voice was meant to be tough, filled with bravado. But her words faltered. “What the hell are you doing, Roc?”

  What the hell was he doing?

  “I forgot to thank you for sharing the spoon,” he said softly, and before she could protest again, before she could move, he held her even tighter.

  He’d been aching to do this. Dying to. He caught her chin with his free hand, lifting her face to his. Touched her lips with his own, covered them, engulfed them. Softly at first. Then with force, demandingly.

  A protest sounded in her throat as his tongue parted her lips, her teeth. She squirmed in his hold, the movement of her breasts across his chest delicious.

  His tongue slipped deeper into her mouth. Tasted, explored, played.

  Her fingers froze on his upper arms. She was still, crushed against him, her heart hammering, slamming.…

  What in hell are you doing?

  The question rose with cruel torment in his own mind. He had wanted to touch her; he had done so. And awakened all the fires of hell inside himself.

  Damn …

  He broke the kiss, met her blazing eyes. “Thanks,” he forced himself to say softly. “Thanks very much.”

  “Damn you, Roc Trellyn!” she cried. “Get out!”

  “Ms. Davenport, I am gone!” he promised.

  Then, blindly, he managed to step from the shower stall.

  And this time he left not just the shower but his cabin, swearing violently to himself that in the future he would remember to lock the damned door.

  Chapter 6

  Long after Roc had left the cabin, Melinda remained in the shower stall, shivering. Damn him. She had known what it would be like if he touched her again. She kept trying to tell herself that she was here because she owed him, but she was really here because she wanted him. But wanting was so foolish, so wasteful … so painful.

  She should have kept her distance; she needed to be careful. She couldn’t run around throwing out brash challenges, because …

  Because she was the one who was going to get hurt. All over again.

  At last she managed to reach for the towel he had tossed her way. His towel, she thought, roughly rubbing herself dry with it. Something of him seemed to linger about it, his clean scent, his …

  She threw the towel aside, then realized she had nothing to wear except for the black bathing suit she had just discarded, the only piece of clothing aboard the boat she could call her own, or the white outfit she’d borrowed from Connie, but it was already feeling awfully grungy.

  Well, she could always find something of his. After all, she had to have something to wear.

  She bit her lip, feeling the shakes start again as she thought of the way he had kissed her. It had been more than a kiss. Roc could always make it more than a kiss. Somehow he kissed with all his body, and she felt all of his body with all of hers, and …

  She could remember so clearly the feel of him. The hardness, the hunger, the sweet fire that seemed to sweep from him to her no matter how she tried to fight it.

  And yet he had managed to set her aside and walk away. Just as he had done three years ago.

  And here she was, back again.

  Because I was wrong! she cried in silent anguish to herself.

  It would serve him right, she thought, if she just waltzed out on deck stark naked and apologized for being a prisoner without any clean clothing. He was hardly sparing much thought to such matters. She would have been in dire trouble already, if it weren’t for Connie.

  Connie, who was so sweet, so nice. And who made Melinda so jealous.

  She squared her shoulders and swallowed hard. Now, as to the matter of clothing …

  She sighed deeply, fully aware that she wasn’t going to prance anywhere naked.

  Yet even as she stood there, wrestling with the dilemma, the pretty blonde with the enormous brown eyes tapped on the door to the cabin and stuck her head in. Melinda snatched the cast-aside towel from the floor and smiled wanly at the other woman.

  “Thanks for coming. I was just looking at my limited wardrobe, and I think I definitely give new meaning to the words, ‘I don’t have a thing to wear.’”

  Connie smiled. “I rather thought that. It’s lucky we’re about the same size, although, of course, you’re taller. Actually,” she mused, stepping back, “you’re a lot more something-er in a number of ways.”

  Melinda raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “You’ve—you’ve just got a lot more shape.”

  Melinda was startled by the strange compliment. “Connie, trust me,” she murmured in turn, “you’re not lacking a thing. You’re a beautiful woman, and you must know that.”

  Connie seemed equally startled. “Really?” she murmured.

  Melinda frowned, amazed. “Really. Don’t these goons around here let you know it now and then?”

  “Well, Bruce is my brother, Joe is married, Peter is busy all the time, and …”

  “And Roc?” Melinda asked softly.

  Connie’s lashes lowered. “Roc is a courteous man,” she replied. “A busy one, too. And the boss.”

  And anything more? Melinda longed to ask, but she refrained. Roc was usually courteous. And he could be very kind. She should know that better than anyone else alive. He had dealt with her so gently—even when she had been entirely rotten to him—once she had admitted that she was hurt, lost and in pain.

  And then I managed to lose him, she reminded herself.

  She lowered her lashes quickly, gritting her teeth for a moment. She was going to get a grip on this thing. She should never have come out here.

  And she would be an absolute idiot to let him get close to her. In his eyes she had betrayed him. He would never forgive her. And if he did touch her, it would be only to taunt her, as he had today.

  He had proven how easily he could walk away. T
wice now. No matter what she felt for him, she wasn’t going to let him get close again.

  She still loved him, but she couldn’t afford to be used by him. And, God help her, maybe she was better off with him thinking she had come to spy. If he mistrusted her, held her an arm’s distance away all the time, it would be much better.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have picked up the damned spoon, she thought. It had angered him somehow. He didn’t believe she meant for him—wanted him—to make his claim.

  Maybe that was good, too.

  Roc had been right about the Contessa all along. She could remember sitting with him one night when they had taken one of her father’s boats out alone for a weekend, just to be together.

  She’d made dinner, the moon had risen, and she’d come out of the galley after cleaning up to find him with a book in his hands, a book on the Contessa. Somehow she had ended up curled in his lap, listening to him.

  “They’re all wrong, you know. Look at the course she took! She’s here, right between the Florida coast of the old U. S. of A. and the Bahamas. She’s right here under our noses!”

  “Why hasn’t she been found, then?” Melinda had asked, smiling; humoring him.

  And he’d kissed her. “Because we sometimes lose sight of the treasures right beneath our noses!” he had assured her. And then they hadn’t talked about it anymore, because he had kissed her, and they had stared up at the stars and the night, eventually becoming lost in each other.…

  That was then, she reminded herself. And this was now.

  And Connie was staring at her, reminding her that she had been in the middle of a conversation when she had lost herself in the past. Thinking back to that conversation she realized that Connie, almost unbelievably, didn’t seem to be very confident about her beautiful blond appearance.

  “Well,” Melinda murmured, smiling at Connie again, “they’re all goons if they don’t take the time to notice now and again that you’re a lovely woman. And I’m extremely grateful for the loan of clothing.”

  “It’s hard to bring your own when you’re planning on getting scooped up in a fishnet, huh?”

  Melinda stared at Connie, wondering if there was rancor in the question. But she saw only amusement in the other woman’s eyes, then found herself smiling in return.